No Tears
by CherishCherries
Summary: "The amount of tears she shed was abysmally minimal and in the beginning, she felt thoroughly alienated and disgusted by herself and guilty for her apparent lack of grief. " - The aftermath of Bellemere's death.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own or claim to own the story or associated characters of Eiichiro Oda's "One Piece". No profit is gained from the writing and publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended. Should this story be deemed offensive by either the legal owners and/or representatives of One Piece, Mr Oda or this website, respectively, the story will of course be taken down immediately with full apologies extended.

**Notes**: This was an attempt to come to terms with my own feelings five months after my mother passed away.

* * *

The amount of tears she shed was abysmally minimal and in the beginning, she felt thoroughly alienated and disgusted by herself and guilty for her apparent lack of grief. Yes, there had been big, fat round tears in her eyes the moment the bullet's impact had thrown her mother's body backwards, like a broken marionette whose strings had all snapped at the same time. And that was it, really, for the longest time. Nami's tears stopped the moment that cold and clam hand had grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. Compared to the coldness of the shock, the sheer terror of seeing, of knowing beyond a doubt that Bellemere was, that she couldn't possibly be – Arlong's hand was positively, disgustingly _warm_ and _alive_.

To this day, Nami remembers and marvels at the feeling of absolute clarity that poured into her mind that day while she was being carried away to where the Fishmen had chosen to set up base. The memory of days that followed Bellemere's death wasn't always as clear as the memory of the feeling of clarity she had experienced then. And in the years to follow, when she'd grown and matured and begun to question and analyze herself, she would often wonder: Had her mind been truly that much sharper or had the world only suddenly become a lot more blurred? Of course, it didn't matter, in retrospect, even if it was an interesting conundrum to contemplate. What mattered was that she had fooled them all; pulled the wool over their eyes so good even the skeptical Kuroobi had to grudgingly admit defeat, could no longer argue or veto against the offer she'd made because it had been as good a deal as any and there had been no tears to betray the true depth of her love and loss.

As they pierced her skin with the needle dipped in Hatchan's ink over and over again, for hours to no end, there were no tears. As they laughed and joked about the foolhardy human Arlong had put into place on the day of their arrival whenever Nami was within earshot, there were no tears. As Arlong himself tore up the small sketch of her mother's grinning face, there were no tears. As she argued and haggled for the village's worth, for every single house and life it contained and that she wanted to protect, to finalize their deal and pin that monster down if only verbally, there were no tears. As the villagers turned their back on her as one so unexpectedly, there were no tears. As the grave was dug on a cliff overlooking the vast oceans, there were no tears. As the casket holding her mother's lifeless form was entrusted to the island's live-giving soil, there were no tears. As Genzo spoke a few words over the grave, loud enough that it carried to the bushes where Nami crouched, hidden from everyone's sight and simply remembered the woman that had given her the greatest gifts of all – twice - there were no tears. Not even when the crudely made cross was placed upon the grave as a marker were there any tears.

No tears at all.

But when the sun set on the day of Bellemere's funeral, when the shadows invaded the house that had been the only home she'd ever known, the best and richest home she could have had, it now seemed to her, that was when the tears finally did come.

And gods, did they come.

Every piece of furniture held echoes of her mother, had her mother's love written all over it. Her mother's ghost was lingering by the stove, stirring the memory of tangerine sauce. Her shadow was gently tugging on the old, faded curtains as she waited for Nojiko's blue hair to separate from the dark sky and long shadows to finally come home. Her voice echoed in Nami's ears, like an intake of breath that would, could, should be followed by a mouth, a tongue forming a word, forming her name.

_"__Nami."_

That was when the tears were there, suddenly, and broke through her lashes, through stubbornly pressed closed eyelids very much like the force of nature they were. A tidal wave of emotion, of agony, of desperation, of denial, of anger – so much that she felt she was drowning in them. Her mother couldn't be dead, her mother had no right to be dead, her mother didn't deserve to be dead, how in the name of all that was holy could her mother truly be dead? How could she when they, when _she_ needed her, would always need her like air to breath and food to eat and water to drink and sun and wind and earth and all those things that essentially spelled life but that you never think about because they're always there, readily accessible and in abundance?

Was it stupid of her to hope that the steps she heard outside of the house were her mother's? Was it delusional to pray and beg to every deity that the door slowly swinging open and allowing the cool evening air access to the house was being opened the woman she knew – logically knew – to be dead and buried on a cliff with a view? Was it selfish of her to wish that the arms embracing her, rocking her back and forth in an attempt to soothe were not her sisters but _hers_? Even as they cried and sobbed together, as tears painfully crawled down both of their faces, Nami couldn't stop herself from wishing… from hoping… from praying… dreaming… begging and bargaining with every deity that would listen to make it not real, to take it back.

She'd do anything, give anything, sacrifice anything, _anything just please, please, I beg you, give us back Bellemere!_

And once the tears had found their way out, once they knew she was not immune and would succumb to them, they came when she least expected it. The smell of burned tobacco, a plaited flannel shirt, the fragrance of tangerines – it seemed to Nami that once she'd fallen prey to the grief in her heart, all she could do was struggle against the primal force that was loss and hold it at bay for as long as it took the effectively leave the Fishmen's sight, lest she betrayed her clever ruse and damn all she held dear.

For all that she had lost, Nami could not bear the thought of loosing even more; for all that her mother had sacrificed, Nami could not allow for it to have been in vain; for all that Bellemere had left behind were Cocoyashi and Nojiko and Nami and they would, the needed to prevail - even if it would end up killing Nami, she would ensure that they prevailed.

For Bellemere.


End file.
